


Chocolat Chaud Épicé

by ryukoishida



Series: You Are the Cream in my Coffee [6]
Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, barista/manager!Makoto, coffee shop AU, pastry chef!Haru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Christmas Eve, while they’re waiting for the customers to pick up their orders, Makoto offers to make them both hot chocolates, but Haruka has something else entirely different but just as sweet in mind. </p><p>Written for MakoHaru Naughty or Nice Event | Day 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolat Chaud Épicé

“The mini orange mince pies and the batch of assorted Christmas cookies that Kamiya-san’s ordered are done,” Haruka Nanase pokes his head out from the kitchen’s double doors to announce, his too-long forelocks clipped to the side and away from his eyes, and the bridge of his nose dotted with specks of white flour.

 

The simple black apron he dons doesn’t escape such fate, either, and usually the pastry chef would have been more careful with his attires, but with so many last minute orders coming in that same morning – while some townspeople scramble to organize last-minute Christmas parties – Haruka and his assistant Nagisa Hazuki have been busy making batches after batches of gingerbread cookies, eggnog cupcakes, and other various peppermint-flavoured desserts.

 

Makoto Tachibana, owner and manager of Iwatobi Café, has been cleaning up the table by the window after the patrons have left a minute ago. He looks up and is about to point out the flour dusting the pastry chef’s cheeks, but instead, he chooses to saunter over, and lightly brushes the flecks of white powder off Haruka’s skin with his fingers. Where his fingers have lingered, warmth blooms like spring blossoms.

 

Haruka blinks rapidly at the motion, nose wrinkling a little, and the other man chuckles before taking a step back, all vibrant green eyes and a timid grin.

 

“Thank you for your hard work, Haru.”

 

The pastry chef nods once, a hint of pink dusting across his cheeks with his head turned slightly to the side – a gesture that usually signifies either his simmering annoyance or embarrassment.

 

“Where’s Rei?” Haruka seems to have finally noticed how deserted the coffee shop is, with only some soft folk-rock rendition of a popular Christmas song playing in the background in the otherwise quiet space.

 

The café – painted mostly in ivory white and soft hues of blue complimented by the natural beige of driftwood and simplistic paintings with an ocean theme decorating the walls – is dressed subtly for the holiday season: elegant fairy lights and silver tinsel draped along the windows, handmade spiral snowflakes in pastel shades (courtesy of Nagisa) dangled from the ceiling, and a small Christmas tree adorned with dainty wooden ornaments stood near the shop’s entrance.

 

“I’ve sent him home along with Nagisa about an hour ago,” Makoto tells him, and he stares out the window – glass encrusted in a thin layer of frost and several inches of snow already accumulated along the sill. “The snow’s been getting heavier by the minute, and I don’t want them to get stranded here if the train stops running.”

 

“I see.” Haruka walks to where Makoto is standing by the windows.

 

“I’m sorry for keeping you here for as long as I already did,” the brunet says with an apologetic smile. Due to the unexpected blizzard that strikes the little fishing town, the café has been quite empty for the majority of the day except for the few stragglers who have rushed in during the morning to escape from the cold and warm themselves up with coffee and breakfast pastries. “You should go soon as well, Haru. There are only three orders left that needed to be picked up, and we don’t need two people here for that.”

 

Haruka peels off his apron and drapes it across his arm, one hand removing the hairclip that has been keeping his bangs in place.

 

“I’ll wait with you.”

 

He’s pointedly avoiding any eye contact, but Makoto observes that the tips of his ears are growing pink.

 

“You don’t have to –– ”

 

“I’ll wait,” Haruka repeats, a little firmer this time, dazzling blue eyes staring defiantly up at him through his dishevelled locks.

  
Standing at this distance, Makoto can see the dark shadows under the other man’s eyes from consecutive days of waking up early and staying up late to design holiday menu items and prepping and creating batches of baked goods leading up to Christmas day.  

 

From the six months they’ve been dating, Makoto realizes that even though his lover doesn’t vocally complain, his physical exhaustion can often be expressed through his subtle body language; he becomes even more irritable than usual and when his fatigue reaches climax, he becomes uncharacteristically… clingy. If anything, it’s a rare and endearing side of Haruka that not everyone has the opportunity to see.

 

“Alright,” Makoto relents easily, lifting a hand up to ruffle Haruka’s ink-black hair with a smile that brightens up his entire visage. “I’ll fix us something hot to drink while we wait then.”

 

Haruka assents with a satisfied hum, and makes his way to the locker room to change out of his uniform.

 

When he comes back out with a pair of skinny jeans and a mint-green, over-sized knitted sweater that almost swallows his slight build – sleeves just long enough to skim past the tips of his fingers - Haruka finds that the manager of the coffee shop is getting busy behind the counter where all the coffee machines, colourful bottles of flavoured syrups, and other equipment are kept.

 

The dainty clinking of silverware knocking lightly against ceramics create a series of tinkling notes that compliments the soft music in the background, and as Haruka ventures near, the saccharine scent of boiling milk and succulent honey, and the silky bitterness of dark chocolate drifts pleasantly around them.

 

Over the miniature electric stove, Makoto is stirring the steaming mixture with so much concentration that he doesn’t even realize Haruka’s presence until the pâtissier quietly sneaks behind the taller brunet and embraces him tightly, almost startling Makoto into dropping the whisk he’s been using.

 

“Haru?” One warm hand moves to cover Haruka’s smaller ones that rest snugly against the brunet’s middle, just below the tail of his silver-grey tie, and he feels his lover huddles even closer as if attempting to suck up all the warmth from their shared contact.

 

A small, fond smile pulls at the corner of his lips as he continues to whisk the contents in the saucepan while caressing the back of Haruka’s hand with his thumb in a soothing, circular motion. “Tired?”

 

Haruka returns with a quiet hum that vibrates along Makoto’s spine, and adds, his soft voice slightly muffled by the material of Makoto’s shirt, “What are you making?”

 

“Spiced hot chocolate.”

 

Placing his whisk to the side, Makoto begins to pick out a few glass containers from the wooden rack to his left, the shades of the spices varying from the bright crimson of chilli powder to the diverse hues of golden brown of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. He carefully measures out the amount of each spice with a measuring spoon and pours them into the steaming cocoa mixture as he continues to stir with a practiced grace.

 

Almost instantly, the café is blooming with cadences of warm spices, the fragrances washing over their senses like a silky, decadent sheet of vibrancy and mist.

 

“How about some vanilla extract?” Haruka suggests, ducking under the taller man’s arm in order to retrieve the bottle and tip a few droplets into the saucepan, his dark brows puckered in serious contemplation.

 

The change is subtle, but with a bit more stirring, the spicy undertones ease to a gentler sweetness that doesn’t overcome.

 

“Perfect,” Makoto sighs, eyes closed and a satisfied smile lining his lips as he takes in the scent once more.

 

“…Like you.” It’s whispered – a not-really-a-secret – but Haruka didn’t mean for it to slip out of his mouth just like that. When he’s this level of exhausted, his brain-to-mouth filter tends to disappear, and he really should have known better, especially when they’re standing this close and he can practically smell the enticing scent of coffee mixed with other sorts of sugary syrups on his clothes and his skin.

 

Strange, Haruka ponders, a hand raising up to touch the brunet’s cheek, slightly flushed from the heat of the stove and Haruka’s proximity, but up until the moment he realizes he has definitely, without a doubt, fallen for the owner of this establishment, Haruka has never really been too crazy about sweets.

 

Certainly, he enjoys making pastries and desserts, but as he had revealed first thing in the job interview, it is the process of creating an item from scratch and designing cake displays – that sense of serenity when he can measure out everything and control the resulting products that fluctuate according to the slight altercations that he’s made to the recipes, and the satisfaction that he feels after knowing that his food has made someone’s day – that drives him forward. It’s never been his passion – merely a job he enjoys and excels at.

 

But when he got hired at Iwatobi Café, Haruka realizes that his young boss’s obsession with desserts is almost heinous. Still, every time Haruka lets him try a new recipe, and every time Makoto responds with the brightest, most pleasing grins and stuttered but delighted compliments, Haruka will think to himself: this is it, this is all I want. 

 

“What was that?” Makoto blinks his eyes open, head cocked to the side in question, and Haruka is constantly thanking the stars for Makoto’s propensity for food-induced daydreams.

 

“Nothing.”

 

For a few minutes, they watch the hot cocoa simmers and foams in companionable silence. When Makoto deems the concoction ready, he turns off the stove.

 

“Taste test?”

 

Makoto dips a spoon into the frothy chocolate and brings it before Haruka’s lips after blowing  on it lightly a few times. With the brunet looking at him with such a harmless, unassuming smile, green irises glimmering, Haruka is struck with an idea.

 

He makes sure that Makoto’s gaze is solely on him before he leans in, first with the tip of his tongue peeking out from his parted lips as he licks the edge of the spoon, his fingers wrapping Makoto’s wrist to steady his trembling arm at the unexpected gesture, and then slowly and deliberately opens up his mouth just enough to suck the bowl and the hot chocolate in with one gulp.

 

His lips close tightly around the neck of the spoon, and after allowing the smoky chocolate – the spices igniting bursts of flavours that spread and dance upon his sensitive palette while the softer harmonious tones of honey and vanilla soothe down the sting – to run smoothly down his throat and fluttering his eyes close, Haruka pulls the utensil out with a noise that should be highly illegal and most definitely inappropriate.

 

Haruka plucks the spoon out of the brunet’s grasp, and places it on the counter with a sharp clink. He doesn’t stop there, however.

 

Vivid azure eyes still gazing up at his lover through his ink-black fringes, Haruka brings Makoto’s hand up to his lips and scatters small, barely-there kisses along his fingers, occasionally darting out his tongue to taste the salty-sweetness on the tips; he gives each digit similar treatment, and only lets go after leaving a lingering kiss on the back of his hand, a whisper of heat that promises something more.

 

The pastry chef observes with quiet amusement as Makoto stares on – eyes wide and blown dark with want, lower lip invitingly rosy from being bitten too hard, and cheeks flushed deeply. It takes him awhile to locate his ability to speak, and when he does succeed, he finds himself rambling in a dry and hoarse voice.

 

“H-how is it? Is it sweet enough? Should I add – uh – add some sugar, or…?”

 

Any attempt at stringing words together into sentences on Makoto’s front becomes a lost cause when the dark-haired pâtissier pulls him down by his tie with a small impatient sound, their foreheads almost knocking together from Haruka’s unexpected force.

 

Their breaths mingle for a torturing moment – cloudy chocolate and luscious honey and singing notes of spices…

 

“H-Haru, what are you ––?”

 

And then Makoto is swallowing a whirlwind of that pungently sweet-tangy aroma when Haruka dives forward with a firm and messy kiss on his lips, tongue prodding insistently until Makoto opens up with a heated gasp, taking in everything Haruka is giving him.

 

Makoto, one hand cradling his lover’s jaw and the other resting on his hip, backs them up until Haruka moans wet and filthy into his mouth, the small of his back awkwardly hitting the edge of the metal countertop. Makoto runs his hand through the pastry chef’s soft hair before laying it on the nape of his neck, a warm, comforting weight that anchor him but doing nothing to calm the thundering roar of his heart.

 

The hot chocolate is cooling, steam from the saucepan continuing to drift languidly up before it dissipates into thin air, but neither of them are paying it any heed when they are simply too engrossed with each other, cold fingers seeking warmth and desperate mouths yearning for more skin to kiss, to leave marks on.

 

At this point, Haruka’s oversized sweater has slipped lopsided off one shoulder, revealing creamy skin that contrasts nicely with the soft green of the material, and Makoto doesn’t hesitate to devour with a vigorous growl, a hand slipping under to scratch along Haruka’s side while he sucks kisses along the elegant line of his shoulder that are more keen than gentle, leaving a series of pink and red blossoms in its wake as the slighter man muffles his whines against Makoto’s neck, fingers grasping a fistful of the brunet’s shirtfront when he hits an especially sensitive spot.

 

Makoto’s hand wanders south, from the flat plane of his stomach to the delicate jut of his hip bone, and then he brushes against Haruka’s obvious arousal, the skin-tight jeans doing a poor job of hiding anything.

 

Haruka jumps a little at the intimate touch, his lower lip jutting out in an insolent yet bashful pout.

 

“I thought you said you’re tired,” Makoto teases, dark irises ringed in vibrant green eyeing him hungrily, and a mischievous grin ghosts along his kiss-swollen lips as he takes a playful nip on the other man’s lower lip.

 

“Mm… not anymore,” Haruka leans in, eyes half-lidded and murmuring against the corner of his lover’s mouth, and a hand winds into Makoto’s thick, tawny hair, ready to pull him close again.

 

The bell at the entrance, like a harsh alarm that breaks through the haze of dreams, startles the two apart, and they watch with bated breath as a middle-aged woman steps into the coffee shop, her jacket feathered with white flakes as more snow blows into the entryway until the door shutters close behind her.

 

“Welcome to Iwatobi Café!” Makoto chippers with a rehearsed cheerful greeting as he feels his cheeks growing warmer and warmer.

 

“Good afternoon, Makoto-kun,” the lady waves as she attempts to brush off any snow residue off her coat, seemingly oblivious to the activity that the café’s manager and pastry chef have been engaging prior to her arrival. “I’m here to pick up my order?”

 

“Ah yes, of course. I’ll be back right away.” It looks like Makoto can’t seem to escape fast enough as he disappears behind the double doors of the kitchen.

 

“And how’s your day been, Nanase-kun?”

 

“Busy,” Haruka admits, the exhaustion that has been pressing on him mentally and physically suddenly returning to his body like a vicious, snarling animal, and then he remembers the hot chocolate waiting on the stove, now too cold to be consumed, and he remembers the man who has lovingly prepared the beverage, now returning to the storefront with two large boxes of mince pies and cookies under each arm with a brilliant smile that lightens up his youthful features, and Haruka adds, “but it’s all worth it, I think.”

 

When Kamiya-san leaves after thanking them profusely, Makoto reheats the hot cocoa and Haruka stands by his side, fingers loosely laced together with his lover’s.

**Author's Note:**

> OH MAN. Ok, so I was going to combine both the naughty and nice prompts, and then I got frustrated and lazy, so instead of blowjob, all I got is a make-out session. I hope that’s good enough. [cries] I’ve been wanting to write more for my coffee shop AU that I’ve started a long, long time ago, so there you go!


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